Griffin let out a low belch. “Yes, isn’t it?”
“Come, aren’t we wasting time with wild speculations?” murmured the earl’s friend. “Shouldn’t we be hauling DeVere’s worthless carcass to Newgate? He knew his ward was guilty of murder.”
The mention of DeVere diverted the Runner’s attention from Charlotte. “Unless His Lordship has proof of DeVere’s involvement in the murders, he will likely escape any prosecution.”
“But he knew,” protested Sheffield. “He told us as much.”
Griffin’s expression hardened. “That may be. However, to me, he claims he had no idea that his ward was engaged in anything but serious scientific research.”
“The man’s lying through his teeth.”
“I don’t doubt it. But without evidence to the contrary, there’s nothing we can do.”
“But that’s bloody unfair,” exclaimed Sheffield. “Four people are dead because of his spineless silence. And a fifth was perilously close to shuffling off her mortal coil.”
“Aye, but much of life isn’t fair, Mr. Sheffield,” pointed out the Runner. He looked around and blew out his breath. “You and His Lordship, along with your various shadowy friends, have achieved no small measure of justice—Locke will be exonerated, the murderers have met with a suitable punishment for their crimes.” He paused. “It may seem imperfect, but sometimes, despite our best efforts, we must be satisfied with that.”
* * *
For a moment, Charlotte felt herself drifting away again. The hackney—Wrexford had somehow found a conveyance, though she couldn’t remember how—was jolting over the cobbles and the darkness seemed alive, tugging at her consciousness with mist-chilled fingers . . .
The earl shifted and his shoulder pressed up against hers, the solid warmth of him bringing her back from the void.
Still, the oddest thoughts seemed to be spinning like whirling dervishes inside her head. “Tell me, Wrexford,” she murmured. “Do you think it’s possible to bring the dead back to life?”
He took his time in replying. “Science is all about seeking rational answers to the mysteries of Life. That does not mean they exist.”
A very Wrexford-like answer, coolly dispassionate, brilliantly analytical.
But then, he surprised her by going on. “And perhaps that’s for the best. Uncertainty challenges us. It keeps us from becoming too complacent.” He drew in a breath. “If we knew we would live forever, I can’t help but wonder whether it would rob us of our essential humanity. That our existence is finiteallows us to feel emotions—joy and sorrow, loss and redemption. . .” His breath seemed to catch in his throat. “And, most important, love.”
Charlotte leaned into him. It was strange, she mused, how his hard muscles and chiseled contours had come to feel so comfortable. A steadying presence, when her own equilibrium turned a little shaky.
“But love doesn’t fit into a clockwork universe that runs with unerring precision,” she pointed out. “It wreaks havoc with order and logic.”
A chuffed laugh. “I suppose I’m learning from you that the unexpected or unpredictable adds a certain dash of color to the dull metallic turning of gears and levers.”
“Now you are sounding like an artist, not a man of science.”
“We’ve talked about this before—perhaps the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Charlotte curled closer to him, and slid her hand down to find his. Their fingers curled together.
“I hope not, because love . . .” She drew in a breath. “Love transcends all philosophical abstractions about Existence. This terrible ordeal has reminded me that Life—no matter the jumble of good and bad, of hope and fear—is so very precious.”
“Indeed. Perhaps because life and love are inextricably intertwined.” Starlight winked through the tiny window, tangling with the shadows. “You took on dauntingly difficult challenges because of love.” A pause. “All of those who care about you did as well—the Weasels, Lady Peake, Sheffield, Henning, McClellan, Tyler . . .”
“And you?”
He tightened his hold, sending a rush of welcome warmth pulsing against her palm. “And me,” he agreed. “Most definitely me.”
“Are you saying—”
Wrexford silenced her with a gossamer touch of his lips. “There’s time enough for talk later, when your emotions are on a more even keel,” he murmured. “For now, let’s simply celebrate that we’re alive at this very moment, with the past behind us and the future lying ahead . . .” A smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. “Filled with all manner of surprises to bewitch and bedevil us.”
CHAPTER 31
Acelebration of Life.Wrexford smoothed the knot of his cravat into place and patted down the creases in his coat—
